Harry Potter and the Hidden Veil
by londonslattern
Summary: Harry's being plagued by horrible nightmares.It's 10 yrs after the war, but Harry's scar is burning  it must mean one thing ... Voldemort is back. May the adventure begin! Another war, another mystery, and the answers to many questions about Harry's past
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: A Trip Away From Death

Harry looked out of the Gryffindor common room window; the sky was a milky gray and a silvery mist was suspended over the grounds. Maybe it was a foggy day, or maybe it was simply Harry's blurred vision. He had left his broken glasses on his bedside table. He wiped at the window and looked out again, gazing toward the Herbology Greenhouse, which was now his favorite place at Hogwarts. He sighed and walked back to his four poster bed and propped up his new library book that he stole from the resticted section with his invisibility cloak. _Common Plants and Their Special & Magical Uses _was open to page 12, which displayed a large picture of a swaying knackley-snout puff. He looked down at his book and then picked up his quill; he was supposed to be writing an essay about knagley-snout puffs for Professor Sprout, but his mind was too cluttered to pay attention. He rolled up his parchment and pushed it aside, closing his eyes and thinking about what had just happened. He had just been forced to enter the Triwizard Tournament. He was facing the risk of death, he was to fight against older and much wiser opponents, and, what was worse, was that the whole school thought he had lied and put his name in the Goblet.

He was sick of it. He was sick of the whole school hating him. He was sick of the look on everyone's face when he passed by and how they would mutter 'Potter stinks' quite audibly under their breath. He needed an escape. He needed a way out. There was no way he could leave Hogwarts though; he could never go and live with the Dursleys. He would be better off dying in the Tournament than spending the rest of his life in that miserable house...

A wave of madness flooded through him. He was so alone. He was not that 'brave potter boy' that everyone thought he was. He had always considered himself to be made of thicker stuff than most people, but now he felt like a failure. Ron hated his guts, his only friend was Hermione, and the whole school thought he was a nutter. Not that Hermione wasn't a great friend, but visiting the library six times a day got really old. Harry needed a way out ... and he turned to Herbs.

With the madness came a rush of strength, of power, of evil. It was a horrible and chilling feeling of the greatest evil and horror Harry had ever known. It was a greater rush than when he first flew on his broomstick, greater than the feeling when he found the sorceror's stone in the mirror of Erised. He had never felt such joy. It was like he had died, but it was not the kind of death he dreaded in his sleep. It was not the horrible death that Voldemort fought so hard to defeat. It was like heaven.

Through a swill of color he could see them, his parents standing at the end of his bed. Harry slammed the book closed and felt tears trickle slowly down his flushed cheeks. He crawled on his bed close to them ... he wanted to touch them, to hold them for the first time in his life. He wanted them to smile at him and never let go of him. He wanted to feel 'home' for once in his life. A home away from the castle, the home he should have belonged to.

But as soon as he reached for them, their faces became grotesque shapes. They morphed slowly from the loving parents he knew from pictures to giant dementors. Their bodies elongated into cloaked figures that were bearing down on him. They were coming closer, the room was growing cold, and Harry could hear nothing but their raspy breath. He could sense their desire to kill, he could feel his own desire to die. He felt death, not the blissful death of a few minutes back, but the worst death he could ever fathom. He saw the most hellish things; he saw Sirius being murdered. He saw Dumbledore being killed by Voldemort, he saw Voldemort laughing hysterically as he dragged his parents mangled bodies down the stairs, their eyes vacant and emptied of all the life they once had...

"Harry! Harry, mate! Wake up!" Dean shouted from his four poster. "Are you okay? You were shaking and screaming, but you were awake! Sleep walking?"

Harry could hear what Dean was saying, but he couldn't react. He snapped into a kind of trance, jumping up and walking over to where Dean and Seamus sat staring at him. He walked slowly, like a zombie with glazed over eyes. In the back of his mind he could see them recoil in fear, glaring at him as though he was a madman. Well they were right. He was a madman. What was happening to him? It felt so strange...so terrifying...so surreal

He could hear the distant voices of the boys in the dormitory. They were strangely muffled, like in some distant dreamland. Harry kept walking, he was going down the stairs toward the common room. He knew where he was going to go. He knew it all along.

He no longer felt human. He could feel the burn of fury within him. He did not care what was real ... he suddenly knew what it felt like to be _Lord Voldemort._

And with that, he made his way down to Dumbledore's office in the strange gray haze of the December night.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: A Trip Away From Death

Harry looked out of the Gryffindor common room window; the sky was a milky gray and a silvery mist was suspended over the grounds. Maybe it was a foggy day, or maybe it was simply Harry's blurred vision. He had left his broken glasses on his bedside table. He wiped at the window and looked out again, gazing toward the Herbology Greenhouse, which was now his favorite place at Hogwarts. He sighed and walked back to his four poster bed and propped up his new library book that he stole from the resticted section with his invisibility cloak. _Common Plants and Their Special & Magical Uses _was open to page 12, which displayed a large picture of a swaying knackley-snout puff. He looked down at his book and then picked up his quill; he was supposed to be writing an essay about knagley-snout puffs for Professor Sprout, but his mind was too cluttered to pay attention. He rolled up his parchment and pushed it aside, closing his eyes and thinking about what had just happened. He had just been forced to enter the Triwizard Tournament. He was facing the risk of death, he was to fight against older and much wiser opponents, and, what was worse, was that the whole school thought he had lied and put his name in the Goblet.

He was sick of it. He was sick of the whole school hating him. He was sick of the look on everyone's face when he passed by and how they would mutter 'Potter stinks' quite audibly under their breath. He needed an escape. He needed a way out. There was no way he could leave Hogwarts though; he could never go and live with the Dursleys. He would be better off dying in the Tournament than spending the rest of his life in that miserable house...

A wave of madness flooded through him. He was so alone. He was not that 'brave potter boy' that everyone thought he was. He had always considered himself to be made of thicker stuff than most people, but now he felt like a failure. Ron hated his guts, his only friend was Hermione, and the whole school thought he was a nutter. Not that Hermione wasn't a great friend, but visiting the library six times a day got really old. Harry needed a way out ... and he turned to Herbs.

With the madness came a rush of strength, of power, of evil. It was a horrible and chilling feeling of the greatest evil and horror Harry had ever known. It was a greater rush than when he first flew on his broomstick, greater than the feeling when he found the sorceror's stone in the mirror of Erised. He had never felt such joy. It was like he had died, but it was not the kind of death he dreaded in his sleep. It was not the horrible death that Voldemort fought so hard to defeat. It was like heaven.

Through a swill of color he could see them, his parents standing at the end of his bed. Harry slammed the book closed and felt tears trickle slowly down his flushed cheeks. He crawled on his bed close to them ... he wanted to touch them, to hold them for the first time in his life. He wanted them to smile at him and never let go of him. He wanted to feel 'home' for once in his life. A home away from the castle, the home he should have belonged to.

But as soon as he reached for them, their faces became grotesque shapes. They morphed slowly from the loving parents he knew from pictures to giant dementors. Their bodies elongated into cloaked figures that were bearing down on him. They were coming closer, the room was growing cold, and Harry could hear nothing but their raspy breath. He could sense their desire to kill, he could feel his own desire to die. He felt death, not the blissful death of a few minutes back, but the worst death he could ever fathom. He saw the most hellish things; he saw Sirius being murdered. He saw Dumbledore being killed by Voldemort, he saw Voldemort laughing hysterically as he dragged his parents mangled bodies down the stairs, their eyes vacant and emptied of all the life they once had...

"Harry! Harry, mate! Wake up!" Dean shouted from his four poster. "Are you okay? You were shaking and screaming, but you were awake! Sleep walking?"

Harry could hear what Dean was saying, but he couldn't react. He snapped into a kind of trance, jumping up and walking over to where Dean and Seamus sat staring at him. He walked slowly, like a zombie with glazed over eyes. In the back of his mind he could see them recoil in fear, glaring at him as though he was a madman. Well they were right. He was a madman. What was happening to him? It felt so strange...so terrifying...so surreal

He could hear the distant voices of the boys in the dormitory. They were strangely muffled, like in some distant dreamland. Harry kept walking, he was going down the stairs toward the common room. He knew where he was going to go. He knew it all along.

He no longer felt human. He could feel the burn of fury within him. He did not care what was real ... he suddenly knew what it felt like to be _Lord Voldemort._

And with that, he made his way down to Dumbledore's office in the strange gray haze of the December night.


	3. Chapter 3

"Potter! Potter ... wait!" gasped Snape, pulling his body slowly along the floor toward where Harry stopped in his tracks.

Harry was out of his mind. Yet again he could hear Snape calling for him, but his mind couldn't comprehend why. He could not even remember that he had tipped deadly poison into his mouth. But he turned, he turned back and looked at Snape, cowering on the floor like an injured child, his eyes red and brimming with tears.

Snape gasped for air and muttered his last words: "This...isn't...you. This...is...the Dark Lord." And with that, Snape collapsed. He was dead.

'This is the Dark Lord' Harry thought to himself. The Dark Lord. His mind was racing, his heart beating so fast it felt like it was on the verge of exploding. Sweat was pouring down his face, blinding his eyes, his ears ringing with Snapes last words. A wave of power flushed through him, a strength that he had never felt before.

It was like a poison flooding through him. He felt within every inch of his body, this strange and untouchable power. He had never felt more alive. He had never felt so evil.

Harry left Snape's office, heading down the dark corridor toward Dumbledore's office. All the while his mind replaying the words 'this is the Dark Lord' over and over again. His mind was amazingly lucid, focusing solely on the rush of power coursing through him. He wanted to kill, he wanted to strike, he wanted to see the life die behind those mysterious half-moon spectacles.

Harry felt like he had never wanted anything so desperately in his entire life. He felt sick that he had ever cared about anything else. He did not need friends. Ron and Hermione were not friends, they were pawns, toys... they should be his puppets, just simple minds for Harry to destroy and infect. He wanted the world is cower down at his mercy, he wanted to hear them beg, to crawl at him like the animals they truly were.

He hardly noticed that he was on the ascending stairs to Dumbledore's office. In a blur, Harry knocked on the door leading into the office.

"Come in." said Professor Dumbledore, his voice calm and gentle. The peacefulness of his voice infuriated Harry. He wanted nothing more than to attack, he wanted Dumbledore to feel just a fraction of the pain he felt.

The door creaked open and Harry saw Professor Dumbledore staring into his Pensieve, slowly pulling out a long silvery string with his wand and dipping it into the contents of the giant goblet. He looked up at Harry over the top of his glasses, his smile quickly faltering.

"Harry, what is it? What's wrong?" His voice sounded urgent, almost pleading. Another wave of fury rose in Harry. He was disgusted that Dumbledore showed signs of weakness, of fear. In some place in his mind, Harry felt a sliver of himself. He wanted to stop himself, but his hatred was too great. He had to do it, he had to kill Dumbledore.

Harry stood framed in the doorway, standing impressively against the darkness of the stairwell behind him. He closed his eyes and pulled his wand out of his robes, trying to master the conflict that was raging inside of his mind. Harry Potter had resurfaced, the Harry Potter who thought of Dumbledore as a friend, as a father ...

But the horror within him took over. He opened his eyes and said with complete calmness "_Avada Kedavra"_

Dumbledore's eyes were still full of concern. He did not fight, he did not have fear. The spell hit him directly over his heart, but he did not flinch. Instead he looked sorrowful, though not for himself, but for Harry. And as the great wizard fell from his sitting chair behind his desk, Fawkes flew over and rested on his shoulder, giant tears streaming down his feathers onto Dumbledore's dying form.

Dumbledore looked up at Harry for the last time, a look of fatherly affection sweeping across his face. He opened his mouth and uttered _"You must fight it, Harry."_

Suddenly the rage died within Harry. The surreal feeling that had been plaguing him since he left Gryffindor common room. Instead he dropped to his knees, looking at Dumbledore's body lying upon the stone floor. The pain was terrible; not physical pain, but pain within his very heart. He felt the tears running wildly down his face.

He crawled to where Dumbledore was lying. He looked at his face, the face of the greatest wizard the world had ever seen. Not only the greatest wizard, but the greatest human being Harry had ever met.

As Fawkes let one last tear drop onto Dumbledore's calm face, the room suddenly started spinning...

the scene began to fade away


	4. Chapter 4

**Harry felt his heart sinking, his head spinning...**

**But this time Harry knew it was a real memory. Relief spread through his body... it had been a nightmare. It hadn't been real. He had not actually killed Dumbledore, he could never kill Dumbledore. But the strength he felt in his dream, the sickening pleasure that he felt when the dream Harry had wanted to murder Dumbledore, had been real. **

**Now his dream rested on the memory of the day that the war was over. The real course of events, the one where Dumbledore had been killed, begging and pleading to die, by Snape. **

**In a whirl he was standing in the Great Hall. The war was finally over. it was all over. as darkness fell over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a heavy sadness rolled over the survivors. Harry pocketed his wand and walked through the once magnificent Great Hall that was now reduced to ruins. It felt as though an iron hand had clasped over his heart; much more than a school, it felt like his home had been destroyed. And what was worse was that there were deaths. **

**He tore his eyes toward the ceiling and swallowed hard to try to clear the lump that was swelling in his throat. His eyes were watering and he forced himself to stare into the infinite depths of the Hall's sky-like ceiling, which was now a stony gray. He knew that only feet away the Weasleys were crowding around Fred's body, and further along the hall Lupin and Tonks were dead too. It was too much for him, he put his hands over his eyes and felt tears streaming steadily out. It was as though an endless movie were unraveling in his mind; the first time he met Fred while boarding the Hogwarts express, the endless laughter, Quidditch, when he first learned to apparate at Headquarters, the sleepy summer days and dinners at the Burrow. Now he was gone. How could it be possible? Fred had been fighting right beside him only hours ago. And Harry knew, deep within his heart, that the whole thing had been his fault. If he had not spent time with the Weasleys then they would not have been dragged into this war, they would never have joined the Order of the Phoenix, and Fred and George would probably be laughing heartily while people bought their skiving snackboxes at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. **

**And then there was Lupin. Lupin, the man who had been like a father to him during his third year at Hogwarts. The man who had given him his first real look at Defense Against the Dark Arts, who told him he was just like his father and had his mother's eyes. Harry could see flashes of dementor lessons, fighting boggarts, long discussions with Lupin and cheering-up chocolate. It seemed like only yesterday he had clapped Harry on the shoulder after his exam and told him how proud he was of him. Just yesterday when they discovered he was a werewolf and Harry had discovered that he had been one of his father's best friends. It was too much to handle. Lupin had given everything to Harry, and he was all Harry had left of his father's friends. His father had died, then Sirius, and now Lupin was lying dead just feet away from him. The life extinguished from his body because he fought to save wizard-kind from Lord Voldemort. And, tragically, the whole wizarding world hated him for being a werewolf. This thought made the tears flow harder and Harry let out an audible sob. No one seemed to notice though. The stillness and emptiness had permeated the crowd, the sorrow had cast an eerie deafness upon the survivors. **

**Suddenly Harry hated himself more than anyone. He wished he had never been born, that he had simply died during Lord Voldemort's attack. Because now, even though Voldemort was gone, all these innocent people had died to make sure that Harry would live. He was the cause of all this suffering. He alone was responsible for the deaths. For George having to live without his best friend and brother, for Dumbledore dying, for Sirius falling through the veil, for Snape, for Lupin and Tonks, for so many members of the Order...for Dobby. It was overwhelming, it was sickening. **

**Harry picked himself out and ran out onto the lawn. He knew it would be the last time he ever saw it. The school stood behind him, jutting sharply into the steely sky. He could see the window of the Gryffindor Tower, where he spent so many evenings, wizard chess, exploding snap, homework with Ron and Hermione, lazy winter days in front of the fireplace, watching Fred and George test out their new creations, throwing parties after Quidditch matches. He could see Hagrid's hut, and suddenly memories of Norbert and Hippogriffs appeared in his mind, treacle fudge, Hagrid's stories of fascinating creatures, and Fang leaping up at the three of them when they came down for evening chats. It struck Harry harder than ever that it was really over. There would be no more of those lazy days by the lake, no more adventures, no more treading down the familiar path to Hogsmeade or butterbeers in the three broomsticks. No more Transfiguration homework or heckling from Snape. No more anything. No more home, for Hogwarts was home and there was no Hogwarts anymore. Hogwarts had died when Dumbledore died. This was the end of everything. Harry did not even care that Voldemort was dead; there was no satisfaction in knowing that he would never be back and his scar would never again wake him during the middle of the night. He would give anything to have it all back to the way it was; when the worst thing was having Malfoy make fun of you, when the whole month led up to a sunny day and a quidditch match, to milling around near the lake, watching the squid bask in the summer sun, to have another exam and to once again see Dumbledore welcoming first years into the Great Hall. **

**But it was over now. It was all over. Nothing would ever be the same. Harry could hardly breathe for crying, his heavy breathing fading into the thick, cloudy air. He gazed up one last time at his house, the Hogwarts castle, to the memories of the best time of his life. He thought of the moment he first saw the castle, that split second when he thought he was dreaming. When he saw the turrets and gently rising smoke coming from the chimneys. He thought of that wonderful feeling and was now experiencing the worst in the world. Because now it was gone. Half was destroyed in the battle, and the soul of the castle was gone. The echoing laughter of the Weasley twins, the wise gaze of Dumbledore. And Harry knew that he would never be as happy as he was back then.**

**Harry woke with a start, his mind clouded with the two dreams. There was again a battle raging within Harry; clears clung to the corners of his eyes as he vividly remembered the day the war ended, and yet there was something else, there was the evil and sinister desire for blood ... to kill. **

**Suddenly Harry's scar burned, the pain more intense than he had ever felt in his entire being. He wanted to die, he wanted the pain to end. He needed the pain to end.**

**His body shaking, his mind coming to the horrifying realization of what this meant.**

**Lord Voldemort was back.**


End file.
